Connecticut western news., 1887-08-10
LOST AND FOUND.

LOST AND FOUND.
 Molly and I had it rough for five years. In the first place, we were burned out in the town, and never saved thing but the clothes we stood in and my team. Then we started again out on the edge of everything, where land was cheap, and it looked as if hard work might count for something. That time the Indians ran us of; they killed one of the children there-the girl, five years old shot her in full sight of the cabin, and Molly hasn't got over it to this day. I picked up few head of cattle cheap that fall, and for year we lived in wagon, camping and driving our cattle across the ranges. That year the boy died-snakc-bit. We got into cabin next fall. Four of us, each poorer than the others, took section of Government land, We had our teams and our health, and we were down to bedrock not much of anything to lose and everything to gain. We built in the middle on the adjoining corners of our quarters, and so had little settle ment of our own.
 It really began to look as if we had touched bottom. That next spring we got our crops in-corn laid by, rain and sum- shine and hot weather all right, and now and then we would hear a laugh from the cabin. But the day the grasshop- pers came there was mighty little laugh ing done. Clayton came in where was taking my noon smoke and dropped down in chair by the door, as if he couldn't get any further. Mountain eers!" he said, with kind of gasp. "What?' I asked, not knowing but it was another kind of Indian. "Grass- hoppersr' It seems he had been there before. In 24 hours there was not green thing in all those parts. We held council of war. The end of it was that we drove our stock into the town next day, 30 miles, and sold it. It didn't make us rich, but at least we got the price of the hides.
 Then three of us went to work in the coal shippings. The coal company petered out just as the cold weather set | in. We took back "a big load of coal; it was the only pay we ever got for our last fortnight's work.
 | Along in November late we started out on a buffalo hunt. There was enough to cat, such as it was, for month in the cabins, and fuel enough to keep them warm; and by that time we thought work might begin again. Anyway, we'd h we our meat for the rest of the winter. Well it's no use to go over that. Ii wasn't pleasure trip. We weren't ou, for the fun of killing. We camped out at night, and rode and shot and dressed game by day, and did not starve nol quite freeze to death; and we got back again on to the plains along in December
 Iwanted to push through and gel home, but the horses were played out and all next day, after we struck tho level, we just crawled along. That night we went into camp ten miles from home There was ravine and plenty of brush and the horses were ready to drop in theil tracks, and that last ten miles was one O. the things that couldn't be done So W, got our fires made and our horses fec and sheltered as we'll as we could, anl put some heart into ourselves with buff falo steak and hot coffee; and the res of them packed themselves into tn wagon.
 l Some one had to stand guard and kee] the fires going, and took the contract After time, somebody hailed over th top of the bluff.
 "What camps that?"
 Kenyon and mates"
 'I flowed it was"-scrambling dow the side of the gulch on his sure-footet mule-"You, Kenyon? News for you A kid up to your rancho, ten days old All hands doing we'll yesterday morn ing"
 Then I sat and thought awhile, an, finally reused out Madison. "You take my turn," I said to him "I'm going home."
 "Not brute that will travel"
 'Tll do my own travelling afoot."
 ''You'll pass in your checks befor morning."
 "No, the wind is at my back; n lords. Ell keep going" went.
 Perhaps you never tried crossing prairie at night without trail to follow It's curious thing, one cannot accoun for; one that makes you feel as if you body and all your senses were of no nor ' acc0unt than s1,ont eartriflDa Evor